


If You Want It, You're Ours

by Ghostinthehouse



Series: Demon and Angel Professors [27]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Disabled Crowley (Good Omens), Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Transphobia, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 21:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21345283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostinthehouse/pseuds/Ghostinthehouse
Summary: One grey eye peered up at Crowley through the kid's hair, as if expecting him to be mocking them.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling
Series: Demon and Angel Professors [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1412962
Comments: 69
Kudos: 1574
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	If You Want It, You're Ours

There were any number of problems, starting with the fact that the kid had hardly eaten anything over the last couple of days and the faint had been as much hunger and thirst as fear. They ducked their head at the confession, mousy hair spilling down to hide their face.

That at least was a problem with a simple solution.

That the kid wasn't actually a student and had been sneaking onto campus, drawn first by the library, and second by the grounds, wasn't, especially since they had been dodging anyone remotely in charge who might know better - including professors.

Crowley exchanged a look of his own with Aziraphale, and took over the questions. "What name and pronouns would you like us to use? I mean, far as I care, you can stay 'kid' and 'they' if you want, but y'know, don't want to assume."

" 'They' is fine, or 'he' or 'she', I guess. Just - my father insists I have to be a man, and I don't feel like one anymore than anything else..." They trailed off.

Crowley set his face into 'patient listener', and shrugged a carefully casual shoulder. "Sometimes the M in the gender box stands for 'meh, whatever'. Nothing wrong with that."

One grey eye peered up at him through the kid's hair, as if expecting him to be mocking them. Crowley held the expression until the kid straightened a bit and some of the tension under his hand eased.

"_He_ said," and the tone made it clear that the kid meant their father, "that until I got over this nonsense, I wasn't to go anywhere or do anything. 'Specially learning stuff. But the only people who were ever on my side were paid staff, not people supposedly in charge. I thought, maybe, you're just a gardener, right? Maybe you'd be more like them than any professor would be, and I could, I could learn." They looked down again.

Aziraphale said, his voice as gentle as he could make it with the anger over the poor kid's home life simmering in him, "I won't tell. You don't have anyone to go to?"

"Not anymore. I had a Nanny once. And a gardener. But they both left."

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged another glance. Their usual games were not, that glance said, helping here.

"Well," Aziraphale said after a moment, "no one will think anything of me fetching a picnic breakfast out here, and you, dear child, need to eat." He smiled and stood up.

Crowley shifted uncomfortably, stretching out his leg. "Don't want to scare you off again, kid," he said, his voice rougher than his angel's, but no less gentle, "but I'm not just a gardener. I'm no less a professor than my angel, here. And if he could, if we could, we'd take every kid struggling like you as one of our godchildren."

The kid froze. Crowley lifted his hand from the kid's shoulder, letting them go where they would, rather than force them into anything. And there was fear in the face that turned to look at him, but there was also a fragile rising hope. "You - want me? You'd - have me as..."

"If you want it," Crowley said, and he could feel Aziraphale's approval in the weight of his gaze, "you're ours. Always. And your father won't even know what's hit him."

The kid stared for a long, painful, breath, and then tears began to trickle down their face. Crowley shifted a little more firmly onto the bench and opened his arms in a silent offer. The kid hesitated a little longer and then leaned in tentatively and let Crowley's long arms wind around them like ivy around an old tree. Aziraphale smiled fiercely over the kid's head, and bustled off to find breakfast.

The kid's head came to rest on Crowley's bony shoulder and they offered back in a shaky whisper. "My name is Warlock. But everyone calls me War, 'cause all I do is fight _his_ wretched rules."


End file.
